It is raining, and after what feels like weeks of steadily increasing sultry heat, it has now been raining for almost an hour. But there is no relief in this rain, at least not yet. It is a light rain, light and disinterested, as if its heart really isn’t in what it has to do. It sounds as though it is tired. It is a dutiful rain, rather than a rain with a purpose. We have been promised thunder, and torrential rain, but so far we have had rain that merely congeals the dust; rain to lightly refresh anyone abroad this evening without threatening to soak them through.
The windows of the house are open, front and back, in an attempt to create a through draught, but the air is still. Clammy. Hot. The only relief from the heat inside is psychological, rather than physical. The pattering of raindrops outside. A slight increase in birdsong, despite the lateness of the hour.
I am afraid the rain does not think it is really worth all the effort and will soon pack up and leave again. Maybe it will never return.